


The King's Toy

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Breathplay, Chains, Collars, Knifeplay, M/M, Non Consensual, Public Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Throne Sex, Whipping, mentions of taxes, subjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Les Mis Kink Meme, Round 5 page 1: AU where Enjolras is the leader of a failed rebellion and is brought before the king/prince/emperor/whatever and that ruler is Grantaire. (Features serious non-con, knifeplay, bloodplay, breathplay, public humiliation, whipping, service submission, and some Stockholm Syndrome.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“My lord.” 

They threw him forwards, forcing him to his knees. His untamed curls fell into his eyes, preventing him from seeing the king's face. He was restrained, guards on either side of him, hands shackled together. 

“The leader of the revolutionaries.” 

“And the others?” The king's voice was soft, younger than Enjolras had expected. 

“Two escaped.” That was the other guard, and Enjolras lifted his head at this. He hadn't known that there had been other survivors. “The others are dead or in the dungeons.”

“Good,” the king said, but his eyes were only on Enjolras. “He's pretty.” 

The king looked nothing like Enjolras would have imagined him. He had dark hair, wild around his wide face. Blue eyes looked down a broad, flat nose at Enjolras. He wasn't handsome, but something about the way he was staring at Enjolras, naked hunger in his gaze, made Enjolras's breath catch in a way that had nothing to do with fear. 

“Very pretty,” he repeated. “What do you think, Charles, should I take him into my service, have him make up for what he tried to do?” 

The guard directly behind Enjolras, Charles, laughed. “You have good taste, Your Majesty,” he said. “You've always liked pretty things.”

Enjolras struggled to his feet. He didn't miss the nod from the king that made the guards back off and let him up. “I am not a thing for you to own or play with,” he spat. “Arrogant monarch, you think the whole world belongs to you-” 

One of the guards cut him off with a blow that sent him sprawling. From the floor, he saw the king raise his hands, signaling for them to stop. 

“You're not afraid of me, are you?” he asked. Enjolras shook his head.

“Sire,” one of the other guards spoke up. “Do you want us to kill him?”

“No.” The king did not hesitate. “Leave him for now. I have other business to attend to. Restrain him, and I'll see to his punishment later.” 

Enjolras protested and struggled, but no one took any notice. The guards chained him to a column, tight enough that it hurt, and he didn't miss the hooks for his chains that fit into the stone, or the notches along the pillar where the metal of the chain fell with a familiar embrace. Clearly, Enjolras was not the first to be chained here. He tried to keep the pain and the fear off his face, but every now and then the king would look at him with a knowing smile.

*

He watched as the king spent the rest of his day attending to state business and settling disputes. He was firm and almost rude with foreign ambassadors, which Enjolras knew he could get away with only due to the military strength of their country. He discussed taxes with his advisers, raising them far too high, but he also redistributed money to the poorest districts, and as he did, he looked at Enjolras and smirked.

The day winded down and the king sent the last of the petitioners away with bread and meat to feed their family. He signaled for the guards, and they moved towards Enjolras with quick efficiency, unchaining him. His body was tired from sitting in one position all day, so they dragged him, unresisting, towards the throne. They dropped him closer this time, nearly at the throne, and stepped back. 

Enjolras forced himself to look up, to meet the king's eye, but if the display of disobedience affected him at all, he didn't show it.

“Tell me, my revolutionary friend. Have you enjoyed our hospitality today?”

With some effort, Enjolras mustered up the energy to spit at the king. He was gasping and thirsty, and his mouth was dry enough that only a few droplets hit the king's boots. 

“That was quite pathetic.” The king's voice was almost bored, observational and without venom. “Would you like some water?” 

When Enjolras nodded, he found a cup at his lips within seconds, and he drank greedily. He couldn't find it in his heart to be embarrassed by his desperation, but he felt his face heat up as the king watched him, staring at the working of his throat. 

“What is your name?” the king asked. 

“Enjolras.” 

“Enjolras.” He tried out the syllables in his mouth, running his tongue along his teeth as if he was tasting the name. “My name is Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Enjolras said. 

“Hmm, yes, you do seem somewhat unhappy to be here.” The king made a meaningful glance at his boots. “You should clean the mess you made, you know.” 

“Mess?” It took Enjolras a moment to realize that he was talking about the spit. His face twisted in disgust as he understood how Grantaire wanted him to clean it. 

He felt a rough hand on the back of his neck and he was careening forward, his face pressed harshly against the boot. They weren't too dirty, the shoes of a man who rarely left his palace, but they smelled of feet and degradation, and Enjolras struggled to get up. 

The toe of the boots cupped under his chin and lifted his head. He was looking up at Grantaire now, and the king was smiling down at him with empty eyes. 

“Come now, Enjolras,” he said softly. “You don't want to make this any harder on yourself than it has to be. You've already lost, the people will not rise to a fool's revolution. They have no desire to kill a king who will only be replaced by someone worse.” 

“Don't flatter yourself,” Enjolras growled. “You still rule over the people without their consent. They have no power while you are still on the throne.”

“Nor do you,” Grantaire said. “Why not just submit?” 

Enjolras raised his chin, pulling back from the grasp of the king and the guards as well as he could. “I'd rather die.”

“Death is not an option. I am not giving you a choice here, Enjolras, simply presenting an inevitability. You will submit to me, one way or another. The only variable is when.”

As he spoke, he nodded to the guards behind him. Enjolras wasn't looking at them, so he had no warning when the whip came down on his back. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream escaped before he clenched his teeth together. He took the second blow in silence. The king raised his hand after the third.

Enjolras's back was on fire and he was breathing hard from the effort of holding himself still. He knew the pain showed on his face now, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't school himself back to a neutral expression. The king's boot tapped his chin, and he turned his head away. 

“Still no?” Grantaire asked. “Get him up.” 

That was directed at the guards, and they pulled at him until he was sitting up on his knees, pushed close enough to the king that he could feel the fabric of his breeches against his chest. The king was undoing his trousers, and Enjolras felt rough hands on his face, forcing his mouth open before he could process what was happening. 

“If you bite me,” Grantaire warned. “I will kill you slowly.” He had his cock in one hand and he reached out with the other, gripping Enjolras's hair tightly and forcing his head down. 

*

Enjolras didn't try to bite. Grantaire was almost gentle once he realized this, bobbing Enjolras's head with his hands but not thrusting up. Enjolras struggled, trying to move away, but that only seemed to make Grantaire harder. 

He was gasping now. The fingers that had surrounded his cock reached up to brush across Enjolras's stretched lips. The guards were still close, but they took a step back at Grantaire's glare. Enjolras closed his eyes and waited it to be over. He could already feel his body going limp, and he made no attempt to control it any more than he could control the violation of his mouth. 

He would not cry in front of the king. But Grantaire thrust upwards, hitting the back of Enjolras's throat, and he gagged, tears springing to his eyes. The hand on his head tightened, pulling his hair roughly, as the king began to move his hips faster. Any struggling from Enjolras now was involuntary, a reaction to the sudden loss of air. 

A hitched breath was all the warning he got before Grantaire came, spilling into Enjolras's mouth and releasing his hold on his head. 

Enjolras stumbled backwards as soon as he was released, choking, semen dripping out of his mouth. He fell to the floor and hands from behind him pulled him to his knees in his original position. 

Grantaire was watching him, his eyes half-closed, smiling as he laced up his trousers again. “You got some on my boot.”

Enjolras looked down. There was a smattering of pale seed on the shiny black boots. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the guards lift the whip again.

He leaned down.

It was salty and tart, but he licked it up with very little hesitation. Watching the king through his eyelashes, he could see that he was supposed to go on, so he continued, licking all the way over the top of the boot, tasting dust and leather with every movement. He closed his lips over the toe of the boot on an impulse, as he might kiss a lover's hand, and pulled his head up, praying this was over, that the king wouldn't force him to do the other shoe. 

He didn't. Instead he nodded, his eyes glazed over with lust, and stood, pressing his hand to the back of Enjolras's head. It was a warm weight, not gentle but it didn't hurt any more than his body already did. 

“You see? You were always going to submit. It's not as bad as you think, is it?” 

He didn't seem to require a response. Enjolras looked away. 

Grantaire spoke to the guards then. “Strip him and chain him back up, loosely. Have someone bring him food and water, and maybe a pillow. I'm going to bed.”

They left Enjolras there, a collar and chain attached to the column and his hands and ankles shackled together, in the dark and alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire swept in as the morning sun began to rise. The guards positioned themselves at the doors and behind the throne, but they stayed back a little ways. 

He gripped Enjolras's chin and lifted his head so that he was looking at him. “Good morning, pet,” he said. His voice was so gentle that it took Enjolras a moment to recognize the nickname. 

“I am not your pet,” he growled.

“Aren't you?” Grantaire stroked his hair and smiled, but didn't give Enjolras time to argue. “Did you sleep?” 

Enjolras hesitated for a moment, debating the merits of answering, but he nodded his head yes. 

“I'm glad. News is spreading throughout the country about your failed rebellion. My petitioners today are going to have a chance to see their leader, at my feet.” 

Enjolras spit in his face. 

It worked better today, the water bowl next to him nearly empty, but Grantaire just wiped it off with a smirk. “You do enjoy doing that to me,” he commented. “We're going to have to break you of that habit soon. For now, though, I'll keep you close until I have need of you.” 

He motioned to the guards and the leash around Enjolras's neck was removed from his column. They hooked the chains around his ankles to the floor beside the throne, but apart from leaving his wrists roped together, he was allowed more freedom of movement than he had since his captivity. Still, Grantaire held his leash, loose in his lap, and Enjolras was painfully aware of his nudity as the first of the petitioners was brought in. 

He could feel their eyes on him throughout the day. Most embarrassed, some almost as ashamed as he was. A few looked at him with lust. His face was burning. It wasn't just his state of undress that affected him so, but the servile position at the feet of a tyrant, his head bowed and his knees pressed against the floor, collared and humiliated. 

He was barely able to follow the conversation through his mortification, but it must have only been a few hours before he heard a gasp from one of the petitioners. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, and Enjolras looked up. 

He was a weedy man, pale and sickly, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and he was staring directly at Enjolras. For most, a look from Grantaire had been enough to force at least a token effort to pretend not to be looking, but he did not look away. 

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I mean no disrespect, but- is this the leader of the revolutionaries?” 

He bowed as he spoke and Enjolras felt sick. His face was known to the people, he had made sure of that. He had thought, in his rare moments of arrogance, that he was a symbol of hope. Clearly, if he ever had been, those days were long gone. 

“Indeed.” Enjolras could hear the smirk in Grantaire's voice. “He's being punished for his little rebellion.” 

The man bowed again. “Forgive me, sire,” he said. “I did not recognize this as a punishment because to sit at your feet seems to me that it would be the highest reward.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but Grantaire was already tugging at his leash. “Hmm. You may be right. Loosen.” 

He was speaking to a guard, but Enjolras felt the chain around his ankles go slack. He tested it, pulling gently, and saw that it was still attached, but giving him much more leeway than it had before. However, his gaze was pulled away by another insistent pull on the leash as Grantaire dragged him up into his lap.

Enjolras knew how this looked. He was naked, chained, held across another man's lap. It was a painful humiliation even before the first slap hit his naked ass. 

This time he had seen it coming, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The second strike was harder, Grantaire's open palm striking skin roughly. He was shaking by the third and he ducked his head, trying to hide his face from the prying eyes of the others in the room.

Grantaire's other arm came up, wrapping around him, shielding him from their gazes. He found himself far too close, nearly clinging if his hands had not been restrained, but he couldn't stop himself as the slaps came down harder, patterning over one another. He was desperate and embarrassed, trying to hide from the redness he could feel growing on his ass and from the gasps that escaped his lips when he couldn't quite conceal them. Grantaire held him close, each slap driving Enjolras further into the crook of his elbow. Enjolras could feel the king's hardness pressed up against his belly.

By the time the spanking stopped, Enjolras's whole body was trembling, his shoulders tense and shaking with suppressed emotion. Grantaire left him in his lap as he finished the conversation, face down, stroking absently over the open wounds from the whip the night before as he talked. Enjolras didn't try to move. 

Grantaire was still hard, but he moved lazily, unhurried. He had Enjolras as long as he needed him. There was no need to rush to get off. 

Still, Enjolras couldn't repress a sound of pain as Grantaire's finger pressed into his opening. If anything, that only made the king harder, and he drew in a breath as he slipped between the clenched muscles. 

He stretched him slowly as he spoke to various people. His voice never wavered, though his petitioners seemed distracted, and perhaps gave in to his demands more easily as they stared openly at the wanton sight before them. Grantaire fit a second finger inside, scissoring them back and forth, and he brushed something within that made Enjolras buck his hips up. The king chuckled and bent down to whisper in his ear, ignoring the lord before him. 

“You like that, my pet?” he asked. “Soon you'll be on my lap every day, and you'll beg for me to make you feel like this. Treasure these times when you get it for free.” 

Enjolras didn't respond. Another finger slipped in, faster this time and rougher. Grantaire stretched him only a little further before he waved the lord away. 

“No further audiences for now,” he said to the room at large. “I am taking a rest.” 

Several of the people in the room bowed and left, leaving only a few of the guards. Grantaire did not wait for the others to clear the room before he undid his trousers and picked Enjolras up. He held the unresisting body before him, positioned so that Enjolras was facing him, as he lowered the other man down onto his cock.

Enjolras flinched as the tip pressed in. Relentless, Grantaire continued, and soon Enjolras was unable to restrain himself from screaming. 

It hurt. He knew that men did these things, had heard whispers in the back alleys and bawdy tales in bars, but he had never partaken himself. Still, he knew from the stories that lubrication was used, oil or tallow or _something_. Grantaire did not pause, and Enjolras felt as though he was splitting at the seams. 

Still, Grantaire struck the same spot within him that he had before and Enjolras moaned between his screams. His protestations may have had no effect, but that reaction made Grantaire fuck him faster, hands on his hips to guide him. He was watching the movements of Enjolras's body, the pain on his face, with open lust. 

The king came, gasping, and pulled out. Enjolras's ass was as empty as it was agonized, but he could feel the fluid drip out of him and onto his leg as Grantaire pushed him to the floor. 

“Clean him up,” he ordered. “And leave him in my chambers.” He was lacing up his trousers as he spoke and he wasn't looking at anyone in particular.

But still, as they dragged him off, Enjolras realized that his exposed cock was hard and wanting.

*

His leash was tied to a bedpost, but he had the freedom to move about the room nearly at will. At first he searched for a weapon, but there was nothing within reach he could use to fight back or escape. His body was too weak to push to defend himself. All he could do was hope that he would displease the king enough that he would kill him. 

At first he wept openly. If yesterday was any indication, the king would not return to his chambers until the sun had sunk below the horizon, and it's light still streamed in through the windows. Still, Enjolras stifled his cries, breathing quietly into his hands, and wiped his face clean to hide the evidence of his weakness.

There were books within his reach and he grabbed one at random, losing himself in the story as best he could when the tears didn't blind him from the text. Grantaire found him like that, curled on the floor, chained to the bed, his body twisted into a defensive position almost unconsciously. He chuckled. 

“You look so domestic like that,” he commented. “Do you enjoy it?” 

Enjolras pulled away, tucking under himself. The king was alone now, unguarded, but Enjolras didn't miss the knife on his belt, or forget the strength he had already felt in the larger man's arms.

“Oh, come now. I won't hurt you for reading. In fact, if there is any book you desire that I do not have, you only need to ask and it will be yours, for the times when I have no need of your service. I am not a cruel man.”

“Debatable,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire struck him. His rings left screaming bruises on Enjolras cheek, and he couldn't restrain the small noise of pain that escaped when he hit the floor. 

“You're lucky,” Grantaire said. “I like my pets wild and strong, at least at first. I could have a thousand well-trained slaves if I wanted, but it would mean nothing if I didn't break them myself.” 

“Why won't you just kill me?” 

Grantaire tutted. “I would never kill you, dear Enjolras. I take no pleasure in depriving the world of beautiful things, and you, my pet, are very beautiful. Get on the bed.”

Enjolras didn't move. Grantaire's face darkened and he moved towards the chained man with two long strides, picking him up and twisting his arms behind him. His fingers dug cruelly into the wounds on his back, and Enjolras cried out. 

“You need to learn,” he said, “that when I give you an order, it will happen. You can do it on your own, or you can fight me and carry out my wishes with pain. But it will happen. Understood?”

It was a question, but Enjolras didn't answer, not until Grantaire's free hand traveled up to his neck and curled around the collar, pressing tightly. He gasped, pulling away from the pressure on his throat. “Yes.” 

Grantaire smiled. “Good boy,” he said. “On the bed.” 

Enjolras obeyed. He lay facedown, his eyes closed, but he could still hear the rattle of the chain as Grantaire stepped over it and feel the mattress sink down under him before a hand passed over his back and his ass, almost reverently. 

“What a pretty pet,” Grantaire murmured. “Still beautiful under all my marks. On your back.” 

Enjolras rolled over without resistance, although the whip wounds pressed painfully into the mattress. Grantaire was fully clothed, watching him with a small smile on his face, and Enjolras closed his eyes again. 

“I see I'll have no need for a blindfold with you,” said Grantaire. “I think I'm going to love your face. Will your eyes open when I fuck you, or close tighter? I can't wait to find out what you look like when I take you apart.” 

He was doing something with his hands, but Enjolras didn't realize what until he felt the cold press of fingers against his opening. There was a cool liquid on Grantaire's hand, and he slipped two fingers into the stretched hole easily. Enjolras gasped. 

“Good little pet,” he murmured. “Do you like having me inside you?” 

He didn't seem to expect an answer, but his fingers moved, brushing a bundle of nerves inside him and Enjolras couldn't restrain a moan. Against all odds, he was hard, shameful and wanting. Grantaire kept him like that for what felt like hours, just using the two fingers, sliding them in and out, keeping Enjolras full until he was clenching around Grantaire's fingers just to feel more. Then he pulled out. 

“Are you mine?” Grantaire whispered the question into his ear, hands ghosting over Enjolras's stomach and chest. 

Shaking, Enjolras nodded. There was no need to deny it now, collared and fingerfucked on the king's bed after a day kneeling naked at his side. He was lost, he was owned, he was no longer himself.

“Say it.” Grantaire leaned down, fingers stroking over the collar as he bit into the skin around it, drawing a pained cry out of Enjolras's throat. 

“Yes,” he gasped. “You've won. I'm yours.” 

It felt like it should end there, as though his surrender would kill him, leaving just a shell of a body here to submit and he could leave, could die, could be free. But Grantaire just made a soft _hmm_ of affirmation in the back of his throat as he sucked bruises into Enjolras's shoulder now. 

He sat up when he was finished and admired his handiwork. “You _are_ mine,” he said. “And you will never forget it.” His fingers twisted around Enjolras's nipples, pinching lightly as he spoke. “I should mark you.”

Enjolras gasped out a moan at that. “Please,” he begged. “Don't.” 

“Music to my ears,” Grantaire said. He drew his hands back and placed one on the hilt of his knife. “Stay very still,” he ordered. “But be as loud as you want.”

He rested one arm over Enjolras's waist as he took out the knife, sliding the tip lightly over the skin there as he searched for the perfect spot. It almost tickled, and he only pressed down a little further, not enough to really hurt, when he chose a location on Enjolras's right hip. 

“My name is a little long for these purposes,” he said. “But people need to know that you're mine.” 

“I doubt they'll be confused,” Enjolras said. His voice came out between a whisper and a gasp, but Grantaire just smiled at him. 

“Collars can be removed, pet,” he said. “This however, will not be.” The knife dug into the flesh as he spoke and Enjolras screamed. He struggled vainly against the arm pressing him down, but Grantaire didn't even hesitate. 

Enjolras could feel the blood seeping from the precise strokes of the knife, drawn out by the king's cuts the same way the screams were drawn from his throat. 

When Grantaire was done he drew back, sliding a finger through the pool of blood and drawing long stripes on Enjolras's stomach next to the marks. Almost against his will, Enjolras leaned forward so he could see. 

On his hip, carved in firm strokes from the knife, was a capital R. The blood had been drawn with Grantaire's fingers as though it was paint, broad and proud across Enjolras's body, spelling out the word **_TOY._**


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras's whole body ached. He was standing today, collared by with the leash hanging loose by his side, his hands chained together but his feet free. As the months had turned cold, Grantaire allowed him clothes in the throne room, but never in the bedroom. 

Grantaire was judging criminals today, something he had been doing more lately. The man before him was a servant who had stolen a pocketful of coins from his master. It was only after he had heard both of them speak that the king turned to his pet. 

Enjolras stepped forward automatically, offering the jug of wine in his hands. That was usually what Grantaire wanted when he looked at him, but today he waved it away. 

“And what do you think, dear Enjolras? Does this man deserve to die for his crime?” 

Enjolras hesitated, a question in his eyes, but Grantaire only smiled at him, a small nod that passed between them alone signaling for him to continue. 

“No,” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire's eyebrows raised but they were controlled, not surprised. “The law must be upheld,” he commented. 

“Then punish him,” said Enjolras without thinking. “But do not kill him. A human life is worth more than the amount he stole.” 

There was a murmur through the room and Enjolras flushed, but the sounds stopped with a raise of Grantaire's hand. 

“Very well,” he said. “My sentence is flogging. Ten lashes, in the public square, followed by a month's imprisonment. After that time, you are free to go.”

The man bowed, frantically thanking Grantaire, but the king shook his head. “You owe your thanks to my pet,” he said. 

The criminal looked surprised, but he turned to Enjolras and bowed. “Thank you,” he said. He backed out of the room, still bowing, but Enjolras was frozen in place, watching him go. 

“That was the last audience for the day,” Grantaire said to the room at large. “Ensure that all sentences are to be carried out within the next week. I am not to be disturbed except in cases of extreme emergency.” 

Enjolras moved at the familiar words, putting down the wine and waiting at Grantaire's side for the king to take his leash and lead him out of the room. They walked back to his chambers in silence. Once they were there, Grantaire removed the leash from the collar and undid the chains around Enjolras's wrists to allow him to undress. 

“Why did you ask me that?” Enjolras asked, once he was naked.

Grantaire shrugged. “I tire of decisions sometimes,” he said. “The court is used to you by now. Why not involve you in proceedings of state?”

He lay Enjolras down on the bed as he spoke, stroking his hair almost gently. The affection in the gesture made Enjolras brave, and he ventured another question. 

“One of the girls in the kitchen said you've never kept one pet this long,” he said. 

Grantaire pressed a soft kiss to his head as he grabbed the bottle of oil from the table. “I've never had a pet who was so pretty before,” he replied. “And you're so good for me. I love watching your face when you're trying not to scream.” 

His fingers pressed into Enjolras's opening, drawing out a gasp, and he chuckled. He stretched him wide, slowly, as he bit and bruised the skin on his chest and shoulders. Enjolras moaned as Grantaire passed his lips over the raised scar on his hip, brushing close to his aching cock but not touching it. 

“Beg for it.” Grantaire accompanied the order with a sharp slap to Enjolras's stomach. “Do you need my cock?”

“Yes.” Enjolras bucked his hips back, fucking himself onto Grantaire's fingers. “Grantaire- sire- please. Please fuck me. I need you- please- need you in me.” Grantaire had fit four fingers into him now and was thrusting hard against him. He leaned forwards and covered Enjolras's mouth with his own, swallowing his moans as his cock pressed against Enjolras's thigh. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” Grantaire whispered against his lips. 

“Please,” Enjolras repeated. “Please, I've been so good, please, I'm your loyal slave, I'll never disobey you, just please, _please_ fuck me.”

“As my pet desires.” Grantaire pulled his fingers out, laughing at the whine it drew from Enjolras. “You're not to come until I let you,” he warned as he pressed the head of his cock in. 

Enjolras bucked his hips at the contact, fucking himself back down onto his king. He was gasping and moaning, repeating “please, please, please” as a chant, a mantra as Grantaire's nails dug into his side and made him scream. 

Before, Enjolras had never really thought about how he looked. Now he knew he wasn't as pretty as he had been when he was first brought in. His body was covered in scars and bruises, but that was how Grantaire liked him. He bit down on the wounds he had left the night or the week before, and thrust harder when Enjolras cried out in pain. 

Grantaire came with his teeth pressed into Enjolras's arm, biting down hard enough to draw blood, and Enjolras moaned desperately as he felt himself filled. He knew he would never be allowed to come before the king, but he was still hard and leaking, his needy gasps filling the air. 

“You look like you want something, my pet,” Grantaire murmured. “What is it?” 

Enjolras recovered his breath with some effort. “Please,” he said. “Let me come. Oh god, Grantaire, please, I need to come, I want you so bad, please. Don't leave me like this.” 

“Look at you.” Grantaire was smiling as his hand traveled down Enjolras's body. “So desperate. You beg so politely these days, darling.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras gasped. 

Grantaire kissed him, his lips brushing gently over his pet's as he wrapped a hand over Enjolras's cock. He bit down lightly on Enjolras's lower lip, drawing out screams as he pumped quickly. 

“You have permission, pet,” he whispered. 

It didn't take anything else for Enjolras to come with a groan. His world narrowed headily and he was shaking as Grantaire's drew him out, gathering up the semen and using it to lubricate the continued drag of his hand over Enjolras's oversensitive cock. 

He didn't stop until he had wrung every last drop out of his toy, leaving his scarred, pale body shaking and completely taken apart on the mattress, that he stopped. He took his hand off of Enjolras's cock and moved it up to his mouth, signaling for him to lick his own come off. 

Enjolras did so eagerly, the familiar taste of himself mixed with Grantaire's skin on his tongue. He swallowed every bit obediently, with an eagerness that made the king smile and stroke his hair, pleased. 

“Good boy, Enjolras,” he said. “You've done well today.” 

Enjolras swallowed. “Thank you, sire.” 

Grantaire lay down next to him, tugging off his trousers and tossing them off the bed. Enjolras hesitated, knowing his place on the floor was waiting for him, but it was cold and he- 

He wanted this. To serve his master, to be with him. It was all he had. All he was good for, a life of failed revolutions and useless studying forgotten in favor of pleasing Grantaire. 

“Sire,” he said, hesitant. “May I sleep here tonight?”

The king wrapped his arms around him, a contented, benevolent smile spreading over his face. “Of course. Anything my pet wishes.” 

The toy fell asleep, pressed against his king, exactly where he belonged.


End file.
